Once spring hit, my Mom would take us down to a little pond in Navesink to feed the ducks when we were little. The pond was on one side of a narrow side street, and the ducks and geese that lived there were completely spoiled by the people coming by and giving them food. When we pulled up in the gravel alongside the pond’s edge, a small army of ducks would spot us and come waddling over, making noises as they came. I vividly remember the distinct image of several ducks gliding across the pond to come to us, and how they left trailing V-shapes in the water behind them. I wish I could go there right now and try to draw that. Or at least, just sit there and watch for a really long time and take it all in again.

I love thinking about the simplicity of going to that pond and throwing crumbled-up pieces of stale bread to the ducks. It was such a pretty spot; a calm little pond (maybe it was considered a small lake, I don’t know for sure) surrounded by bright green, swaying trees and vegetation. At the far end of the pond, there was a white building that was either a greenhouse or an old home. In that neighborhood, several of the houses were built in the 1700s, and until I moved away I didn’t realize that it’s very hard to find old, unique buildings that are still standing in Arizona. It’s just not that old of a settlement, and I know I am not the only person longing for a place with deeper roots and layers of history again. If you grow up surrounded by tall trees, acres of ancient cemeteries with crumbling gray headstones half-hidden in weeds, old rickety houses with wood-slat front porches and wavy old glass in the windows, I think it seeps into your personality intrinsically and you just feel more comfortable in old places for the rest of your life.

When we went to that pond, very rarely were we the only people there. Sometimes someone would be set up in a lawn chair near the edge of the pond, doing some fishing. Usually another car would pull up to feed the ducks, or someone was already there. (Thinking about it now, how overweight and unhealthy were those poor ducks, anyway? Maybe no one worried about it as much in the early 80s as they do now.) We might talk a little bit to the other people there, but mostly it was just a quiet, still place filled with quacking ducks and little-kid giggles.

At the far end of that street, where it intersected with a busier road, there was a stretch of farmland surrounded by one of those white pole fences. Just behind that fence, and centered squarely in the opening of the trees at the end of the street, was a gigantic old willow tree. That was a fantastically gorgeous tree. It was just sweeping and graceful and monstrous at the same time. It had pretty cracked bark and its roots popped out of the ground in brown knobs alongside the road, and it was clear that the tree BELONGED there and I don’t think it had any intention of ever going anywhere. The good news is, several years ago when I went back home for a visit and I brought my then-working video camera to document my favorite spots, it was all still there!

The pond, the ducks, the huge old willow tree. I can’t explain how cool that was to me, and it gave me hope that maybe we won’t all just pave over everything and let the modern world take over even the quietest little spots in the world. I like to think that because that pond and that tree are still there, that there is some sort of hope left that the world today and in the future can still be serene, natural and real in little pockets hidden down small, half-forgotten side streets.

(The picture is just a cool one I found of the Navesink River; which is very close to the pond I'm talking about. THIS is the NJ I know.)

Memorial Day weekend is now over, and I am back to work like everyone else. We had a nice time just relaxing a whole lot and getting things done around the house. Plus, we got to swim for a long time on Saturday, and had my sister over for a quick barbecue that night.

Greg got me a great birthday present: surprise tickets to Body Worlds 3! We went on Sunday, because yesterday was the very last day of the exhibit at the Arizona Science Center in downtown Phoenix. I loved the surprise element of it, and I truly appreciated Body Worlds itself. I was hoping to see it, but it seemed like the tickets were a little pricey and besides, it kept slipping my mind. It was very cool that Greg remembered me mentioning how much I wanted to go and then got tickets.

It might seem odd that I'd want to look at dead bodies for my birthday, but honestly, it was awesome. It's amazing and humbling to see this exhibit. I'm very intrigued that people have donated their bodies for this, and then I think about the process of plastination and preparing these bodies for display... and it just overwhelms me in some way. It's hard to word what I am trying to say. I just think that the human body is simply incredible and the fact that it works the way it does seems like a miracle. I was particularly struck by the display of a man sitting at a desk looking at a head lying on the desk... only the man and the head were nothing but the blood vessels and arterial systems. It looked like a man (and head) made out of blood from a distance; but up close you could view the complicated, intertwined webs of the circulatory system and it made me stop and think about blood itself, and the fact that our bodies contain all of it through this huge web that winds its way throughout every inch of our bodies. It was beautiful.

There were other striking displays as well, and people were crowded around the lungs display. They had a healthy set of lungs, and the lungs of a smoker. The smoker's lungs were just pitch black from the tar. They had cross sections of the lung lying on a lighted surface, and you could see where the deposits actually sat in the bronchi. Kind of scary to think that's what people are walking around with everyday. At the end of the exhibit, there was a big sign that urged people to quit smoking, along with a clear box where people could drop their boxes of cigarettes off as a sign of their commitment to quitting. The box was almost full. Pretty cool.

All in all, Body Worlds was a good time. I liked it so much, and only hated the crowds of people crammed in around me. So many damn people in there, all milling around and getting in the way. I can't tolerate crowds anymore; I have gotten crotchety in my old age. But at least they were there to be educated so I couldn't hate them too much. (Yeah, I say that, but do I mean it? Nah. I still hated them.)

I'm feeling psyched because today is officially Day 8 for me in my No Sugar Challenge. I set this challenge for myself last week. I decided I would not eat any extra sugar (candy, cookies, baked goods, ice cream, or anything with lots of sugar added) for one full week. I wanted to see if I could break my addiction to sugar, and also I wanted to find out if I felt any different after being off the shit for several days in a row. I am happy to report that I was able to do the full week without giving in to temptation even once! I was tempted very badly around day 4 or so-- my boss' birthday meant a huge, yummy cake was sitting there in the break room for hours and hours, and my co-workers all went to get slices of it and they ate it at their desks right next to me-- but I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to go snarf down a slice or two. My sister brought over strawberry shortcake for the bbq, and I skipped on the cake and ice cream part, essentially only eating the strawberries themselves. I had to resist. I was already about 5 days along and if I could pass up the birthday cake, I felt like I could do anything.

I am talking about this so much because it's really a big deal to me, and something I have been thinking about for a long time but never had the willpower to do until now. I have always felt kind of weak for being such a slave to sugar, because man...I really do have a problem with it. Now, the fact that I know I have gone all this time without it definitely makes me feel a lot better. It's cool!

Of course, there is a little room for sugar in the long run: I WILL eat some birthday cake on my birthday. That's just too much to give up. I love birthday cake.

Well, that's my blog for today. I am off to do something amazing and headline-worthy. Watch the news, because I just might be on there today. And yes, when you see it, that IS my real ass. I'm au naturel when it comes to my buttocks, cellulite and all. And yes, that IS the White House I'm in, not just some weak cardboard painting of the White House. Fuck this war.

I'm going to be 8x4 next week. Aging is definitely a funky thing. I am amazed at how differently the passage of time feels now than when I was younger than 20. Once I hit 20, everything sped up. Either way, I need to come up with some potential birthday presents that I might want.

Here are some things I want for my birthday:
* Big old fishtank, covered in algae
* Pieces of tires found on the freeway
* Chandelier decorated with sweaty jockstraps
* A surprise buzzcut
* Framed close-up picture of Nicolas Cage's hairline
* Poo candy
* A pet otter with horrible flatulence
* Tongue-pulling (with tongs)
* Gift certificate good for one free dingo at Dave's Dingo Farm and Dildo Shop (dildos not included with dingos).
* Wooden underpants lined with cactus quills
* A couple of bags of old bananas, since I love them so much.

Sorry if I seem a little greedy or materialistic there. But birthdays only come around once a year, and I figure it can't hurt to just put it all out there, as they say, to see what I end up getting.

Oh, yeah. That list up there? It's not actually a list of things I want. It's a list of things I DON'T want. I hope I didn't get you all excited, since you'd already purchased me something from that list. If you did, go put whatever it is in the driveway and run it over with your car. Or just cancel the appointment or the rental of the electric shaver; whatever is applicable.

Thanks for thinking of me, though! I don't care what anyone else says or what the police report reads... you're sweet.

Today's topics: Edit thyself; what happens when you are a bitch

Here are two things that have happened recently:

1) While I was sitting in a workshop at the conference, I was getting bored with this particular speaker and so I started doodling in the margins of the handout. In order to tell the story here, I need to admit what I wrote. I was writing my husband's name (awwww!), drawing stars and flowers, and finally, adding commentary from the moment. I wrote: "This speaker is very boring and he is not using his time well. He is taking too long on each slide." But then, for whatever reason, I decided to document a personal problem I was having. I wrote: "My feet stink. I'm embarrassed." Because yeah, it's regrettably true... I thought their odor was a little more pronounced than usual that particular day. Why did I have to write that down? Who knows? Why do I do anything, really?

Anyway, fast forward to last week when my co-worker requests copies of the printouts so we can share what we got at conference. I obliged and made the copies, and gave them to him. And then I went back to my desk and flipped through the originals, and found my little creative outburst. I'd forgotten I'd written that stuff. Luckily, it just made me laugh really hard, and I just came out with it to him right away. "Just so you know, when you get to this page, there is a little commentary there." He laughed pretty hard when he saw it. At least I didn't give the copies to my boss or anyone I'd be mortified if they saw it. Next time, I will try to edit myself and not just write down whatever floats into my head, because I can never tell who might be privy to my private little doodlings and scribblings. My self-consciousness regarding my feet does NOT really need to be documented in writing. (Look at me. Such an ass-- writing about it AGAIN right here. Doh!)

2) So there was this girl I used to work with and she was a mega bitch. I was her supervisor, and she said some very nasty things to me and actually made me cry a couple of times. I left that job because I couldn't work with her anymore. She stayed on though, for years and years, and I never got why she was never fired. I know that other people have had the same issues with her, and she was simply a horrible person and did not play well with others at all. Anyway... this girl applied for a job at my company. My boss ran her name past me and I freaked out a little. I told him the short version of why she would not be a good fit at our company. I dodged a bullet there, because I don't know what I'd do if the worst co-worker I ever had walked into the best job I ever had and proceeded to RUIN it.

Anyway, said bitch got fired today. The news came to me in celebratory e-mails and I know there were cheers that went up from the populace over at that office. And as for me, I am just wickedly happy that karma finally came around to her and kicked her mean little ass to the curb. Is that bad? Should I really be relishing in another's misfortune? Shouldn't I forgive her for her evildoings and her trespasses against me?

Noooo! This is way more fun.

So I put Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic! on our Neflix queue, and it arrived late last week. We put it in the DVD player on Friday, and you know what? It turns out I don't like Sarah Silverman, nor her film that makes the assumption that our Lord and Savior has magical powers. I wanted to turn it off less than halfway into it. We did, too. Happily, Greg wasn't impressed either, and was fine with me ending the shenanigans early. As a couple, we just weren't having it.

I don't know why it didn't do anything for me. It seems like I would like it. I know that a few friends have told me how they really thought I would like her comedy, and I was ready and willing to be open-minded about it and give it a go. But something is definitely missing there.

If I look at the things Sarah Silverman is known for regarding her comedy, it would seem like a great match for me. I love crude humor and political incorrectness. I also love juvenile toilet humor, I admit it. Absurdity is good, and it's always cool when a woman can pull off this kind of humor. Not to mention she has an adorable little dog, and she's a fellow brunette with brown eyes. We're kind of rare.

NOPE. Turns out, I don't get it. I didn't enjoy her little songs, and I didn't like how she seemed like she was trying. She just didn't seem all that natural; it seemed like she was preoccupied with trying to shock while keeping up her cute appearance. Something about it pissed me off. I can't pinpoint what it is, or why I was so apathetic to her act, but whatever it is...it's there.

As luck would have it, there IS something new for me to laugh at. This particular program works for me on so many crucial comedy levels. It's weird, which is probably my favorite type of humor. It's completely random, and it features people who make weird faces and the show uses hilarious graphics and photoshopped images. Plus, it has great guest stars, such as John C. Reilly and Michael Cera. The newest show I love? TIM & ERIC'S AWESOME SHOW on Adult Swim.

I have my sister to thank for this one. She turned me on to it. I only saw a few minutes of one episode she'd DVR'ed, but it killed me. I was going to stop at nothing to make sure I watched an episode last night. The only thing that sucks is it is only 15 minutes long. Still, those 15 minutes are pure hilarity.

Well, it just goes to show you: where one source of hilarity fails you, another one comes along to save your ass from a world of unfunniness. God bless the Cartoon Network and their incredible lineup on Adult Swim. And God Bless my parole officer! And God Bless Richard Nixon! Nighty night boys.

I’ve been a slow Sally these days, and it’s taken me this long to get to a meme Fraulein N tagged me for several days ago. Please don’t ask me where slow Sally came from—just take comfort in the fact that it did, indeed, come from somewhere.

Here’s the way it works:

*Share 8 weird things about yourself
*Tag 8 other people
*Go tell them you tagged ‘em in their comments.

Rather than drag this cat-and-stallion show on any longer, I will just dive right in like a professional, elegant diver who dives into writing facts:

1) I often keep old calendars. I find them in drawers, in my file cabinet, under the bed and in boxes of junk I should probably throw away. The reason I keep them is not to commemorate events that happened, since I hardly ever write on a calendar, but because they have nice pictures. I develop these grand schemes wherein I believe I’ll use some of these pictures for collages, as inspiration for future drawings or paintings, or for framing. I never actually do any of these things, though. And what sort of weirdo would I be if I went around hanging up framed pictures of calendar art? I’m sure that wee little hole on the top of the picture would really add something to the composition.

2) When I was a kid, I used to rollerskate a lot. That’s not the weird part. The weird part is that I would skate until I had big, huge, puffy blisters on my toes… and then really enjoy sliding a sterilized needle into them later on to drain the fluid. I don’t know why, but blisters fascinated me. They kind of still do, although I don’t get them like I used to. Now, I have large calluses in the areas once prone to blisters. See where a blister fetish will get you? That’s right, in Ugly Calloused Feet Town.

3) I seriously believed I could build a second story onto our log cabin playhouse. I drew up plans, and thought of ways I could brace the walls and add insulation so I could live in the playhouse. I also thought I could run extension cords from the house for my electric, and the hose for my water supply. I inquired about getting glass for the windows and sheetrock for the walls, but I was turned down by my mean, cruel parents who didn’t take me seriously for some reason. I don’t know why. What could go wrong with a solid plan like building a second story on a flimsy little playhouse and living off of hosewater?

4) Whenever I eat a baked potato, I always think the same thing: Baked potatoes would make great insulation since they hold the heat so well. Until they cool off, or start to rot.

5) I’m actually really good at playing Tekken games. But I don’t have a game console at the moment, so I might suck by now. But I’ve beat the game many, many times. And I always do it by playing the Indian chick Julia, or the giant dancing bear. I know their moves.

6) Sometimes, and I can’t explain why, I kind of like the feeling of having water in my ears. Because it feels so good when I get it out.

7) One time I had a nightmare where I was stuck on an amusement park ride that went through a building; kind of like a haunted house. However, the ride took me into a laboratory run by Nazis. They made me ride through an arch that sprayed experimental hair conditioner on my hair. It burned my hair off in the dream and I woke up SO upset. The fallout of that dream was, to this day, on some level I sort of expect new hair conditioner to BURN when I put it on. Evil Nazis and their inhumane hair conditioner experiments. They ruined me for life.

8) I read the Babysitter’s Club books like crazy when they first came out. I had every edition, including “Super Specials”, through something like #40. I would re-read them while eating breakfast, and I kept them on neat display on a prominent shelf in my bedroom for years. Over time, I became more cynical, sarcastic and ironic… and the books took on a new life. Karen and I came up with several interesting deaths for each of the babysitters—Dawn, the “California girl”, died by choking on some bad tofu; Claudia the unintelligent artist wore funky leg warmers that were so tight they cut off circulation to her feet and she had them amputated and infection set in; etc.—and wrote fake notes in the BSC member voices. Later, we even wrote a letter to the author demanding to know why the BSC never aged—they were perpetually stuck in middle school and wearing strange ensembles that often included plastic earrings, neon shirts and multiple ponytails. We forged a ton of signatures of other ‘concerned readers’ and everything. We never sent it. I still have it.

OK, now for my list of the tagged. Hopefully, I have only named people who haven’t done this one yet, but it’s hard since I am so late to this meme party. Here you go:

Trish
Out in Left Field
Matt
Smackadocious
Brigita
Tim
Paul
Greg

Wow... two posts ago, I hit the 1,000th post mark! I didn't realize it until today, and now I wish I'd written something momentous. Oh well, no big deal. Still, 1,002 posts seems like a big number.

I've got so much to do right now. I need to unpack work-stuff and e-mail and call people, and proofread and format things... and today I am just sitting here in a funk, not really doing much at all. Mondays are hard, and especially Mondays that follow a four-day weekend. Maybe lunch will get me all jazzed up or something.

I haven't said "jazzed up" in awhile. I don't really know why I said it there, either. I do think that being "jazzed up" requires a leotard, Capezio shoes, a glittery top hat and of course, copious use of jazz hands. Wouldn't it be strange if I truly became jazzed up after lunch? I could stroll back to my desk with a cane tucked under one arm, doing fancy jazz moves down the hallway and landing in my chair in a big showy finish? I'd do it, I think, if not for the leotard. There's no way I'd put one of those on again. There's a reason the word ends with "tard." That's all I'm saying.

I'm back from Las Vegas! I've been back for over 24 hours now, and I am so happy to be back with Greg and the dogs. Weird how much I just wanted to have at least one of the dogs with me so I could hug him/her at the end of the day; maybe just have the dog at the exhibit booth with me, sitting under the table eating hot dogs... something like that. I would have liked that.

What's really weird was how different this convention really was. I didn't get super burned out like I normally do... well, let me clarify: I did have a couple days of non-stop business with practically no time to even go to the bathroom in between workshops, meetings and shifts at the booth, so I WAS super tired and run down, that's for sure. But at least my brain didn't hurt, and I wasn't getting as irritable and depressed as I used to in past jobs. It's definitely got a lot to do with the people. And this industry really seems like a decent fit for me. I'd never in a million years have guessed that this particular industry would be something I wouldn't HATE learning and writing about, but damned if that's not the case. I always thought if it wasn't entertainment-based, like a job in theater, film or publishing of real books, then there was no chance I'd really like it. But a lot has happened since I was a lot younger and stupider, and now I can see that learning, writing and talking about supply chain management can actually be a solid niche for me.

Anyway, blah blah fucking blah. I guess all I wanted to say was that the conference didn't suck, and even though I was in Las Vegas, I managed to make the best of the time somehow. I met a lot of people, and got to know my co-workers a lot better. I laughed a lot, and struggled really hard to understand the accents of some super-nice foreigners. God, it sucks when someone is really interesting, and passionate about whatever it is they are talking about and you can tell that this person is a sincere and intelligent person...and you can only make out maybe 50% of what they are saying to you because of their heavy accent. I felt so bad. Well, my hope is, in the case of these three people (they are from China, Trinidad and Saudi Arabia) will be cool with doing pretty much all of our communicating through e-mail. That would probably be best for all of us.

Couple of quick things about this trip:

* Casinos stink like shit. It was just smoky and the air felt dead. And then a dude would walk by with too much cologne and I'd want to get all dramatic and cover my mouth with my hand and run through the crowds making big pukey noises. I just don't do crowds, and I especially don't do smoky, stinky, desperate, sad and old Vegas crowds.

* Vegas might suck, but there's no way around this: The fountains at the Bellagio are unbelievable. Well played, Old Man Bellagio.

* I heard two great speakers: Malcolm Gladwell and Dr. Bertice Berry. Gladwell was cool because he's a best-selling author and all, but really his appeal, for me, lies in the fact that his first name is Malcolm, and that his hair is really, really crazy. It's Sideshow Bob territory, and the man is completely cool with that. You've gotta respect a confident Malcolm with wild hair that sticks out all over.

And Bertice Berry... she was awesome. She was a motivational speaker, I guess, but trust me when I say she was not the typical motivational speaker. She was hysterical for one thing, and very sincere and passionate. And she really knew how to speak. She had a connection with the audience that I truly admired and wish I could emulate. I don't know how she did it, but she reduced a ballroom full of about 1,000 people to absolute silence and tears. When she was finished, she got a really long standing ovation and she deserved every second of it. I'm definitely not one to get impressed with speakers who are hired to talk at conferences, but in this case it was totally different. If you ever have a chance to hear her speak, I'd highly recommend it.

* I will shut up now. Maybe tomorrow I will write something else or post one or both of the two photos I took while I was there. Brace yourself for the awesomeness, or lack thereof. I bid you good evening. Namaste. (He can't be dead. You Lost fans know what I'm talking about. Maybe I'll talk about that a little tomorrow too. Yeesh.)

Well, the week I have been dreading since March is now here. Tomorrow, I leave for Las Vegas and I am SAD about it.

I don't like Vegas. It's just too, I don't know... MUCH. Mostly, I hate the sound of Vegas. There are a few sounds I simply hate hearing, such as a dog whimpering in pain, the squeal of tires, jackhammers and screaming toddlers; and now I get to spend several days in the near vicinity of the electronic slot machines. I really can't STAND that droning, ringing sound that fills the air inside every casino. I don't know what it is, but something about that tone and the sheer number of machines making it at the same time just drives me insane.

I have a feeling that old school Vegas probably was pretty neat. Like in the 60s. Now it's just overdone and crowded. And it has that very sad undercurrent of desperation and overcompensating decadence. Money, sex and drink-- you go there to overindulge and behave like a jackass. Well, at least some people do. Some people go for a vacation and manage to enjoy themselves without giving in to all the so-called temptations. And then there are the people like me, who go to Vegas for WORK.

From tomorrow until Wednesday, I'll be working at a Conference for my new job. It's going to mean long days and lots of information to take in, so I know I am going to be flat-out exhausted by the time I get back to my hotel room every night. I'm hoping I can keep my distance from the casino-area of the hotel as much as possible, as I motor through the huge Conference halls and head to our exhibit and the various workshop sessions I will be attending. And this time, unlike the numerous other times I have been forced to Vegas for work, I will be kind of interested in the stuff I will be immersed in. And my co-workers will be there, so at least I am not going there with big pains in the ass or anything like that. I might even have a spot o' fun if I am upbeat and positive enough about the whole experience. We'll see.

The real reason I am sad is because I will be away from my man for the longest stretch of time since I have known him. I know I am being a super-ridiculous baby about this, but I am going to miss him a whole lot. He would make Vegas OK. I have so much fun with him, and we laugh a lot and just have a happy little existence in general, and with him I could maybe even enjoy my time off from the day's events. Eh. I have to just stop wishing he could come and get down to packing for this trip! The little old lady voice in my head is screaming at me: "Oh, GROW UP already, fer God's sake!" (The little old lady in my head is a resident of Staten Island, NY. Don't ask. She just is.)

I need to leave work in about an hour to take him to the airport, because as it turns out he is also going away this weekend, except he is going to beautiful Colorado to visit one of his best friends. He's only going for a couple of nights, but I admit I'm so jealous of him. He is going to have so much fun. And Colorado was beautiful when I was there. I'm glad he's going, but I wish I was going to do something like that rather than be in hot, dry, loud Las Vegas for work. Boo hoo for me. And...cue that old lady again to kick me back into place.

In other news, I have been doing so well with cutting back on my shopping. I've stopped buying stuff almost entirely for the past two weeks. It's been hard. Yesterday I went to Famous Footwear on my lunch hour and tried on all these adorable sandals because I really do need a pair of black ones that are decent and will not hurt my feet--I have been foolish in the past because I would buy the cheapest shoes possible, like in Payless and Target, and then faced the consequences of wearing ill-made shoes that fit me terribly-- but even though I found a pair that I LOVED, I put them back because they were $49. I know that isn't that expensive, but old cheap-shoe habits are hard to break. And I figure if I am still thinking about those shoes a few days from now (OK, when I get back from Vegas), I can go back and get them. Still, it was massively hard to not just buy them right then and there. But I must be smart. I don't even carry a credit card anymore. I am determined to have zero debt.

Well, today I am going to break the shopping drought by going to the Gap outlet and getting a couple of new basic T shirts to replace old ones. I may even go into my old crack den, Old Navy, and see what's what. I have promised to "be good" when I go in there, but I'm not gonna lie to you... it can be a real struggle to be good in Old Navy. And Target, for that matter. Why are these affordable treasure troves so fucking addictive, anyway?? GRRRR!

I hate Las Vegas and I hate the shopping monkey on my back. OK, OK, I can do this, I can be strong and not let things "get to me"... I think I have a new thing to tell myself that's a combination of the two things: "What Happens in Old Navy Stays in Old Navy." I can try shit on as much as I want, but I can only leave with the bare essentials. Leave the rest there and never speak of it.

Today at the dentist, they told me I have a canker sore on my tongue. I didn't know that! Usually I can feel those things coming on, and this one snuck up on me. And now professionals are pointing it out to me. "Ooh, you've got a canker sore there on the side of your tongue--" (she pushes on it) "--right here." Thanks so much for that!

Now, three hours later, the thing is raging and it hurts a lot. I keep thinking that maybe if they didn't have to go and point it out, and TOUCH IT, maybe I would never have felt it. This could have been my stealthiest canker sore to date; and those ladies screwed it all up by "activating" it.

That reminds me of something... I am sort of skeeved out by that yogurt that says it has "active yogurt cultures" in it. It makes me think of little bug-looking yogurt bits, swarming around in the yogurty mixture-- I have a feeling I would be able to detect their movement in my mouth and belly. Nope. I like my yogurt like I like my life: LAZY.

Homework Slips

I haven’t thought about Homework Slips for a long time. Yesterday when I was writing a note to my friend Kristen, the term suddenly popped into my head and I remembered the horror…oh, the howwowh… of the Homework Slips.

This is something our fifth grade teacher did to make our lives miserable both in and out of the classroom. Each Friday, she handed back all of our homework for the week and we had to put it in a manila folder that we took home to have our parents sign. The point was to show our parents our work and how we did on assignments. The signature was proof we’d actually shown it to our parents. And the Homework Slips were also part of the deal.

Basically, you’d get a Homework Slip if you didn’t hand in an assignment. It was just a little slip of paper that the teacher would fill in regarding the name of the assignment, the date, and I think she even included any excuse you might have given for not turning it in. At the end of the week, after she handed out the completed and graded assignments for us to stuff in our folders, she would walk around and give us any Homework Slips we’d accrued that week. Then she would write in marker on the front of the folder the number of Homework Slips you got, and staple them to the inside. Because she wrote the number in her trusty pen, and put the parent signature line right next to it, there was no way you could really manage to hide the number of Homework Slips you got.

It sucked. I still think it was mean-spirited to get us all in trouble every single week like that. Of course, now that I am old and everything, I do actually agree on some level that this hard stance on homework was a good thing for us and taught us not to blow off responsibilities, but…how much fun is THAT? Not much. Blowing off responsibility is the goddamned American way!

I was a pretty good student, and I usually did my homework. But you know how it is. Some things just don’t get done. Sometimes it was way more important to go play with my friends, watch some TV or just slack off in general. I learned early on how to turn on the nice-girl charm with my teachers so I wouldn’t get in trouble too much if I didn’t do some part of an assignment. This worked very well for me all the way up to fifth grade.

It all went to shit in fifth grade.

No amount of charm, sad puppy-dog eyes or overcompensation of smartness in class mattered with that teacher. She just was not impressed. She was very serious all the time, and never really laughed about stuff. I also remember her being a Fun Nazi… she would always move me and Kristen away from each other so we couldn’t talk or laugh at stuff. At one point, Kristen was all the way on the opposite side of the room, and we made eye contact during a lesson and the teacher stopped and yelled at us: “Kristen! Lisa! Stop it, and pay attention!” We just couldn’t win with that woman. Sure we did mess around and do stupid things, but overall we were good kids. We should have been allowed to look at each other.

Getting back to Homework Slips…I got them, probably averaging about one a week. There was one week where I remember I had EIGHT. Eight times I didn’t do my homework. I wonder what I was doing that week? What could fifth-grade me be doing that would mean I’d not do 8 assignments? Was I called out on Army Reserves that week? Was there a crisis in the Girl Scout troop and I had to work overtime selling cookies? Maybe I just needed to watch Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure 20 more times or something or record songs off the radio. I think I did that a lot.

The reason I remember the week of 8 is because it was also the week I resorted to desperate measures. I altered the number and tried to make it look like I only got 3 Homework Slips. I can’t remember what I did, but I’m pretty sure I went over the 8 with a pen like the teacher’s and made it look like she wrote 8 by mistake, and it was really supposed to be a 3. Then I took out 5 of the slips, of course. I knew I’d still get in trouble for having the 3 Homework Slips that week, but it was better than coming home with 8.

As you probably guessed, my clever ruse did not work. My Mom saw right through it. “Just how many Homework Slips DID you get this week then?” she asked. I may have lied again and said 5, or something. It wasn’t good.

The next Monday, my Mom had a quick talk with the teacher. Did I mention my Mom was a teacher’s aide? She was in MY classroom a few days a week as the special aide to one of my classmates who had muscular dystrophy. So of course, if I got in trouble in class, most of the time my Mom was sitting right there to SEE it. I really couldn’t get away with anything in fifth grade! It was horrible!

Anyway, Mom found out about the 8 Homework Slips and the teacher ended up confronting me about how bad it was to alter the folder and make it look like I got fewer Homework Slips than I did. I was grounded, I’m sure. I can’t remember. I just remember that feeling of being caught and feeling stupid for attempting the impossible.

Man…that teacher was the worst. And getting yelled at in class and seeing your own mother sitting right there shaking her head in anger at the same time was just too much. It was a tough year! Especially since Kristen was hilarious and I had so much fun making weird faces and noises with her; and there was Karen, who came into our class later in the year and gave me another partner in crime. If I was moved away from Kristen, I was likely still near Karen. And if I was moved away from Karen, I’d wind up a little closer to Kristen again. I felt good about that. That teacher could move me, but she could never take my FREEDOM!

One final thought on this teacher: she was also kind of a dork. The first day we were learning fractions, she wore this goofy sweater with fractions woven into the pattern. And all I can remember is Karen saying quietly next to me, “Dur! Fraction sweater!” and me cracking up the rest of the lesson. And weeks, months later whenever we would remember the Fraction Sweater. Hell…even into high school and college. Fraction Sweater is still funny. I don’t know why, but that’s timeless comedy right there.

And I have timeless hate for Homework Slips.